


Worst That Could Happen?

by signifying_nothing



Category: K-pop, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Self-Hatred, Unrequited Love, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2015-12-11
Packaged: 2018-05-06 01:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5398457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/signifying_nothing/pseuds/signifying_nothing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which yoongi is in love with namjoon, and hates himself for it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worst That Could Happen?

There's something about Namjoon with chalked up rainbow hair. Yoongi isn't sure what it is-- it makes him look like a pastel scene kid more than his silver hair did and when he first saw it, he'd been so busy laughing that he didn't really appreciate it.  
  
But now, with Namjoon asleep in a chair in the waiting room (they should be leaving any minute now) he can take it in.  
  
He's known Namjoon a long time. All through their training time. For a while he was kind of scared of him-- him and Hoseok, actually. They were both bigger than he was and Hoseok had this quality of being not-quite sane and Namjoon, well.  
  
Yoongi wanted to suck Namjoon's dick, so that made things a little uncomfortable for him.  
  
But as loathe as he was to admit it, it wasn't about getting off anymore, not really. It was about the niggling sense of jealousy when Namjoon met a girl and put on his best manners, it was about the agitation that sparkled in his veins when Namjoon was talking about kissing someone, or writing lyrics about the girls he wanted to hook up with.  
  
It was Seokjin, who figured it out. Fucking prick. He's a year older and he'd cornered a sulking Yoongi after they'd finished recording _tears of school_ and demanded ramyun and a drink. He'd practically dragged Yoongi away to their favorite place to eat; the woman who owned the place gave them huge portions for half price and let them sit in the far back booth so no one else could bother them.  
  
“So what's up between you and Namjoonah, mm?”  
  
“What? Nothing, why?”  
  
Seokjin has this way of looking at you. He's got the eyebrow and a pair of too-deep, too-beautiful brown eyes and Yoongi used to have a crush on him, just a little one. Because he was older and took good care of them, even though he didn't have to. Because he was beautiful and because he worked so hard for so little reward, and Yoongi could see that in himself.  
  
“Don't look at me like that.”  
  
“What's up with you, then. If it's not Namjoonah.”  
  
“I already said it was nothing,” Yoongi had snarled, lip curling in the ugly way it used to when he was still living in Daegu and hated everything about his life instead of just _most_ of everything about his life. “Leave it.”  
  
“Well, when you want to talk about it, come and find me, okay?” They'd spent the rest of the meal in silence: Seokjin, comfortable and relaxed and Yoongi riddled with tension and nervousness. Damn Seokjin and his patience, his quiet acceptance of other people's aggression. It wasn't fair for one person to be so fucking-- fucking calm about other people all the time. It wasn't natural. Especially since when it came to himself, Seokjin was a mess. Eternally.  
  
It took less than two days for Yoongi to finally throw his guts up onto the floor (literally and figuratively; though most of the vomit ended up in a trash can) in the middle of the night in the living room and hope Seokjin didn't hate him for it. He'd felt so small, shivery and sweaty and scared. It was unnecessary, of course-- Seokjin, in that motherly way he sometimes had, tugged him up onto the couch and between his legs, letting him lay against his chest and remember how to breathe to the beat of his heart, steady.  
  
“I don't hate you,” he'd said, first thing, and Yoongi had melted against his torso and hidden his face and hated himself. He didn't understand how Seokjin didn't hate him when he was so repulsed by himself, how unnatural and wrong his feelings were, how much he reviled them. Every time he examined them it felt like plunging his hand into a bag of maggots. “I don't hate you, Yoongiyah.”  
  
“Why,” he'd asked.  
  
“Because you're my friend and I love you, okay?”  
  
After that, it was Seokjin who took the brunt of Yoongi's surly confusion and self-loathing. He was pretty good at hiding it, if he did say so himself. No one else suspected, he was pretty sure. Maybe Taehyung, when he came, but Taehyung was such a space cadet that Yoongi was sure even if he had suspected something, he would have forgotten it within a few minutes. Yoongi had gone to great lengths to protect himself.  
  
But in moments like this one, when Namjoon was asleep and they were alone and he could just look, he did look. He takes in the pastel rainbow of Namjoon's hair, the darkness of his clothes and the shadows under his eyes peeking through the makeup he'd nearly sweated completely off during performance. His balmed, chapped lips and pierced ears, his broad hands as they held a cushion to his chest. He looks so comfortable, and Yoongi feels raw and exposed.  
  
“Yoongiyah,” Seokjin's voice is soft to ease Yoongi up from his observations, as always. “Yoongiyah, wake him up, it's time to go.”  
  
“Yeah,” he says. One hand reaches out to touch Namjoon's shoulder, wider and broader than his own. “Hey. Hey, get up.” Namjoon groans and twists away and agitation wells in Yoongi's stomach. “Yah, Kim Namjoon! Get up, you fuckstick, it's time to leave!”  
  
“M'going,” Namjoon says, jerking up and blinking around. There are little tears in the corners of his eyes as he yawns, not that Yoongi is looking, and when he stretches, his stomach shows. It's toned, but soft, much like Yoongi himself. He's never been the buff type. Namjoon probably could be, but it made Yoongi feel less like a failure to know that Namjoon and Seokjin didn't have the so-called chocolate abs of the younger demographic of their group. Fucking Jimin.  
  
“I'm going out,” Yoongi says and Namjoon whines.  
  
“Help me up, hyung,” he complains, and Yoongi grits his teeth and turns, offers out one stiff arm. Namjoon takes his hand and pulls himself up. Yoongi staggers in the process, just because Namjoon is bigger and heavier and his balance isn't that good, damn it. “Thanks~”  
  
“Fuck off,” Yoongi glares and wrenches himself away, all but stalking out to the van and climbing into the back corner, reserved for him by Taehyung and Seokjin, since the three of them prefer to sleep on the way home. Seokjin climbs in after him and reminds him to buckle his seatbelt; he proceeds to buckle it for Yoongi, when Yoongi just keeps glaring through the window as though his irrational anger could manifest into laser-beam vision and blast up everything within a ten mile radius.  
  
But in the bottom of his gut a sick little desire squirms and wriggles. He has to put a hand on his belly to calm it; he doesn't want to vomit in the car, it can wait till they get home. Seokjin is looking at him but he closes his eyes to ignore it.  
  
“Yoongiyah?”  
  
“Don't,” he says. It comes out choked. Seokjin's hand slips between Yoongi's to sit warm against his churning gut. “Please don't, hyung.”  
  
Seokjin doesn't say anything in response to Yoongi's panicked, gagging request. Yoongi pulls his beanie down to cover his eyes and rests his head on his arm against the window, taking slow breaths against his elbow and wishing he could just make these feelings go away. He just wants to get home and shower and sleep, and forget about how stunning Namjoon looks with chalked-up rainbowed hair and lchapped ips made wet-velvet smooth by lip balm he knows tastes like blueberries, because he uses the same brand.  
  
He doesn't want to be thinking about Namjoon's lips in the first place. He doesn't want to be wondering what it might be like to kiss them into a smile, a laugh, into being pulled down into bed for a hug that eventually turns back into sleep. He doesn't want to be scared about what the others will think-- nevermind the rest of their group, what about the rappers he's befriended and looks up to, what about his _parents_ , what about Namjoon himself?  
  
He doesn't want to be in love with Kim Namjoon.  
  
Not because he doesn't love him. But because it might ruin everything.  
  
He feels Seokjin press a kiss to his bicep where his chin and mouth are resting, his thumb rubs gently up and down against Yoongi's soft belly. Once, he'd encouraged Yoongi to say something to Namjoon. Anything. _What's the worst that could happen?_ he'd asked, and Yoongi hadn't been able to answer, because the worst thing that could happen was something he never wanted to think about, didn't even want to acknowledge as a possibility. The loss of one of his best friendships was only the tip of the iceberg, because it would snowball from there and Yoongi, well. He is cautious. He is careful. He doesn't take uncalculated risks and he doesn't do stupid shit like telling his best friend he's in love with him.  
  
When they get home, he's the last one out of the van, the last one inside. He gives his hair a wash in the kitchen sink and heads to bed. He doesn't say anything to anyone and he can hear Seokjin through the door, covering for him. _He's just really tired, he's feeling kind of sick, just let him sleep, okay? Let him sleep._  
  
As though sleep could make it all go away.  
  
Yoongi squeezes his eyes closed and thinks about Namjoon's lips, his sleeping face, and thinks that he's a fucking idiot, and he deserves nothing less than to be rejected by his friends for being so... Disgusting. He digs his blunt nails into his thighs where no one will see the bruises and bites his tongue. It was poetic justice, in a way. Punishing himself, so no one else had to.  
  
No one could hate Min Yoongi more than he hated himself.


End file.
